


Entanglement

by rz_jocelyn



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, SMAP
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rz_jocelyn/pseuds/rz_jocelyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some bonds are easily severed. Others are a lot harder to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Approaching Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters/actors belong to me. This work is purely fiction and does not reflect the real opinions/lifestyles of the person(s) involved. Comments and criticisms are welcomed. ENJOY! XD

 

 

 

_Year 2010_

 

 

 

_Inagaki Goro_

 

 

  
TICK! TICK! TICK! TICK!  
  
‘One more please.’  
  
Inagaki Goro’s gaze shifted from the clock to a very, very drunk Kusanagi Tsuyoshi lying, face down against his arm, on the bar top. Goro’s brow knitted. Ever since that ‘incident’ in the park which had nearly jeopardized Tsuyoshi’s career as a member of the Special Investigation Squad (SIS) in the police force, his friend had been extremely careful with his liquor intake, sometimes even going so far as to decline a social drink and opt for plain water instead. Seeing Tsuyoshi in this drunken state had become a very unusual occurrence; certainly a cause for worry.  
  
‘Maybe you should just call it a night and go home,’ he suggested, withdrawing his mobile phone from his pocket, ‘I’ll call Shingo to see if he can come and get you.’  
  
Tsuyoshi shook his head. ‘Shingo’s busy,’ he slurred, ‘Kenta-kun came down with food poisoning.’  
  
At the statement, Goro cringed in sympathy. Their mutual acquaintance and Tsuyoshi’s childhood friend, Katori Shingo, was a worker at the Hope for Home children’s orphanage, recently becoming its main manager. Hattori Kenta was a child in the orphanage, a cheerful and bubbly seven-year-old who had been abandoned as a baby when both his parents committed suicide because of gambling debts. Goro could imagine the wane smile that Kenta-kun would have on his face, even when that face was marble white and tinged green with illness. He cared a little too much about others, and would rather hide his problems behind a smile if it helped reassure everyone else that he was okay.  
  
Goro’s heart ached.  
  
A child that young shouldn’t have had to know how to hide his pain.  
  
A high but resonant little ‘TING-A-LING’ broke Goro out of his musings, signaling that yet another patron had entered the bar. The man that walked in was not usually the type of customer that Goro welcomed. He cut a stylish figure, though he was decked out only in a simple long-sleeved white shirt and a pair of dark-coloured jeans, accented by a leather belt with a silver buckle and a silver chain that hung from his waist, resting on his right hip. His outfit in itself wasn’t rare amongst the customers that Goro had, but coupled with a dark navy-blue beanie that rested low on his forehead and a pair of dark-glasses even though it was past the hours of daylight, his appearance only further heightened the dangerous aura that cloaked his every step.  
  
Those unfamiliar with him eyed him warily, but this was at odds with the excited tittering amongst the regular ladies present in the bar.  
  
Tsuyoshi seemed to agree with those who were suspicious of the new patron. ‘He looks like a dangerous sort.’  
  
Goro chuckled. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ He turned away from the counter, his hands busily feeling for bottles and grabbing a couple from the shelves.  
  
His friend looked at him in surprise. ‘You know him?’  
  
‘You could say that he’s a friend.’ Goro scrutinized the delicate glass in his hand, holding it against the light to ensure that the colour was the gem-like emerald green that it was supposed to be. Motioning to Chie-chan, the nearest waitress, he gave the glass to her. Recognizing the Owner’s signature drink, she smiled at him to show that she understood.  
  
Despite his drunkenness, the exchange was not lost on Tsuyoshi. ‘He seems to be more than just a friend,’ he remarked, ‘Who is he?’ At Goro’s look, he raised his hands, palms forward in a gesture of peace. ‘I’m just curious!’ he exclaimed before lowering his voice, ‘It’s just, with all the investigations going on, especially in this area, I was worried that he might be one of _them_.’  
  
Of course. Goro relaxed, inwardly laughing at his own guardedness. This was Tsuyoshi he was talking to, not some random cop who was digging for information. ‘To be perfectly honest, I have no idea whether or not he is one of them,’ he said, leaning in to ensure that no curious ear could pick up on their conversation, ‘He comes and goes as he pleases.’  
  
Tsuyoshi raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘You think that he isn’t from the Organization?’  
  
‘He mixes around with unsavoury people.’ Goro shrugged. ‘But in this part of Tokyo, who doesn’t?’  
  
It was an open secret. This was the edge of the underground world, the last stop before heading into dangerous territory. Goro paid a handsome fee to ensure that his bar was protected from wild card characters, who caused trouble at the slightest trigger. He looked Tsuyoshi in the eye. ‘What I do know for sure is that he isn’t involved with anything right now, so don’t arrest him by accident.’  
  
‘I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best.’ Suddenly, Tsuyoshi choked, his face turning pale, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘I-I-Toilet.’ Shoving himself from his seat, SIS agent all but dashed off. Shaking his head, Goro put his friend’s glass in the sink, making up his mind to send Tsuyoshi home. A glance at the clock told him that it was about time to close the bar anyway.  
  
‘It’s been a while.’  
  
Goro smiled as a low baritone attracted his attention. His front was to the sink, his back to the countertop, but even without turning around, he knew exactly who it was that had taken Tsuyoshi’s seat. ‘Mama-san’s been asking for you,’ he answered teasingly, ‘Takuya- _niisan_.’  
  
Kimura Takuya chuckled, removing his sunglasses to reveal dancing brown eyes. ‘Mama-san’s too kind,’ he said, before raising up an empty glass, ‘and thanks for the drink. Different, but delicious as always.’  
  
Goro ducked his head, attempting to hide the crimson flush that was rapidly spreading across his cheeks, its playful fingers even reaching to stain his ears. If it had been flattery from a lady, Goro would have been able to bat it away with an equally eloquent complement. If it had been praise from a male friend, he would have simply acknowledged it with a short nod, or even a sly narcissistic comment.  
  
But when it came to an honest compliment from Kimura-kun, all his defenses seemed to fail him.  
  
‘I added a little extra vodka to give it a bit of a bite,’ he answered, wiping his hands on a cloth, ‘Are you staying long?’  
  
Kimura-kun shrugged. ‘I have no plans, if that’s what you’re asking,’ he said, ‘You?’  
  
Goro shook his head. ‘I have to give a friend a lift, but that’s it. He lives quite near, so I’ll be back in a flash.’  
  
There was a slight scraping as Kimura-kun stood up. ‘No worries. I still have the keys, so I’ll lock up while you get the rest of the stragglers out.’  
  
As the older man left the counter, Goro couldn’t help the sense of nostalgia that rose within him. It was like the old times when the both of them were hosts in a club, when they would help each other out during their turns of after-hours cleanup. Circumstances had separated them: Goro with his father’s bar and Kimura-kun with his own affairs. Sometimes, Goro wondered if he hadn’t had to take over the bar after his father’s death, would they still be hosts in that club, fighting back-to-back?  
  
It wasn’t that he regretted taking over really. His eyes wandered over to his ladies and the butlers. This was his family, and he wouldn’t have traded them for the world.  
  
But, he would have been lying if he had denied missing Kimura-kun’s company.  
  
Distractedly, he nodded to Chie-chan and the rest of his employees as they filed out the door. Not all the staff had been present as Mama-san had had an emergency to take care of, and Goro had decided to use this day as an opportunity to give everyone a half-day off as well, which, he supposed had been surprising foresight, considering the timeliness of Kimura-kun’s appearance. After locking up the front door, all that was left was for him to check on Tsuyoshi.  
  
At the thought of his friend, Goro shook his head again. Tsuyoshi was not normally a regular visitor to his bar, especially alone. Most of the time, he came with Shingo. Occasionally, if the workload was low, he would be accompanied by his team leader, Nakai Masahiro. Recently however, his solo visits had increased so much in frequency that Goro was beginning to worry. Tonight’s complete lack of self-control was the last straw. Goro resolved to take the opportunity to interrogate his friend later when he drove Tsuyoshi back.  
  
As he walked past the storeroom however, Goro’s train of thoughts was rudely interrupted by a loud cry.  
  
‘GORO, GET OUT OF HERE!!!’  
  
The door of the storeroom was ajar, and through the tiny slit, Goro could see Kimura-kun bending over a large box, his expressive brown eyes frantic.  
  
TICK! TICK! TICK! TICK!  
  
Black eyes widened.  
  
And, Goro knew no more.

 

  
~ TSUZUKU ~

 

 


	2. Shards of Memory

 

 

_Year 1996_

 

 

_Nakai Masahiro_

 

  
  
His legs were hurting, a fire burning through his skin to his very bones. His head felt heavy, his vision blurry. It felt like a dream, a horrible nightmare, but no matter how much Masahiro pinched himself, pulling at his bare flesh, roughly rubbing against the rope burns that snaked around his slender wrists, he could not wake up.  
  
TICK! TICK! TICK! TICK!  
  
The ‘ticking’ got louder, shattering the silence that had been ringing in his ears. His legs felt like lead, heavier with every pounding step. His breath escaped him in harsh staccatos. He could not breathe, could not quite get the air he needed amidst the billowing cloud of ash and smoke.  
  
But, neither could he afford to stop.  
  
TICK! TICK! TICK! TICK!  
  
He had to get there, to that room that the voice had whispered about. It irked him that he had had no idea as to the identity of the person, the one who had given him the instructions, the one who had set him free. He had been tied to a chair, his hands and feet bound, his eyes blindfolded. The mysterious figure was gone before the blindfold had fallen from Masahiro's eyes. For all he knew, that stranger had been the one who had taken him captive, who had dragged him through hell. He hated the fact that he had no control; that his survival and that of his teammate now depended on this disembodied voice.  
  
Depended on the very person he could not trust, who had exploited their weaknesses, who had played with them like a sadistic cat with helplessly trapped mice.  
  
CLICK!  
  
Masahiro burst through the door, flinging it open with such force that it bounced against the wall on its hinges. Doubled-over, desperately gulping down air like a drowning man, he squinted, hoping against hope that he had not been too late.  
  
The ‘ticking’ had halted. There was silence, punctuated only by heavy breathing, breaths that were equally short and static, breaths that were not his alone. As he ventured into the smoke, two shadowy figures entered his vision. His heart fluttered in his chest, his throat tightening, as hope rose unbidden from the depths of his very being.  
  
‘Mori-?’  
  
Masahiro’s voice died.  
  
Mori Katsuyuki, the person he had been looking for, was sitting in a wooden chair, looking to have been tied in the same position that Masahiro had been; his arms to the wooden handles and his legs to the wooden legs of the chair. His side was to Masahiro, the profile of his limply hanging head was all Masahiro could see, Mori’s expression curtained by his hair.  
  
But it was not Mori who had caught Masahiro’s attention.  
  
Standing before him was another man, a figure enveloped in ash looking down on Mori, pale and slender, a mocking parody of a fallen angel amidst the black flames of hell. He appeared to be reaching out to Masahiro’s friend, a hand stiffly extended from his body.  
  
In that hand, he held a gun.  
  
The instinctive desire to protect flared up within Masahiro, and fueled by the adrenaline stemming from desperate worry, he stumbled forward clumsily, nearly tripping over his own two feet, needing to reach Mori, heedless to the risks and dangers that might come from such a reckless move.  
  
‘Stop right there!’  
  
The young man jerked, his body snapping as if he had been the one who had been shot. For a split second, the both of them froze, Masahiro’s eyes riveted on him. Then, the man turned, his hand falling limply to his side, the gun hanging loosely from his nerveless fingers. He looked straight at Masahiro, the shadows falling away.  
  
Masahiro stopped breathing.  
  
Standing in front of Mori as the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder infused in the air around them, was his teammate and partner, Kimura Takuya.  
  
‘Wha-?’  
  
Bloodied, bathed and completely soaked in the crimson liquid, the blood of his friend, their friend, Kimura’s face was blank, his brown eyes darkened, so dark that they were pools of unending obsidian, sharp black flints that pierced Masahiro to the very core of his quivering being.  
  
Masahiro shook his head, stunned, his mind trapped in a suspension of disbelief, bordering on absolute horror. This was worse, much worse than any nightmare his mind could conjure up. There was no way that this was real. The person standing in front of him could not have been Kimura.  
  
‘Ki-?’  
  
Kimura looked steadily back at him, dead eyes unblinking. His lips moved, forming words, words that Masahiro heard all too clearly, even above the din in his ears, sharper than the surreal water that seemed to be drowning his senses.  
  
And, nothing prepared him for it.  
  
‘I killed him.’  
  
  
 

 

 

 

_Year 2010_

 

 

_Nakai Masahiro_

 

 

  
With a loud gasp, Masahiro leapt from his chair, sending it tumbling to the ground. The harsh sound of impact echoed in the empty office, bouncing off the walls. A weary hand swiped across his face, as he stared blearily at his watch. A whole hour had passed since he left the hospital wing, a whole hour since he had orchestrated and taken control of the SIS medic squad as Goro had been rushed into the emergency room, and Tsuyoshi had been taken away by the medics for a full-body checkup after a brief questioning by the very protective Masahiro.   
  
A whole hour since Kimura had been arrested.  
  
Now that he was alone, Masahiro's calm and strong facade began to crack. He no longer needed to be Tsuyoshi's refuge, no longer needed to be the one who was in control of the situation as everyone around him panicked. Masahiro sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.  
  
Just the thought of the man sitting in the interrogation room sent a tumultuous wave of emotions running through Masahiro’s veins. Their situations had been similar, too similar. Tsuyoshi had arrested Kimura because he had found Kimura bending over Goro’s prone body, a room away from where the explosion had occurred.  
  
 _Just like how Masahiro had found Kimura putting a gun to Mori’s head._  
  
Masahiro walked to the interrogation room, attempting to calm his raging nerves as he marched to face the man who had once betrayed him, his own member, his partner. He chuckled in black humour. After all, he would be arrested himself if he punched the prisoner in the face, an action he was very prone to whenever Kimura was the target of his frustrations. It had always been like that between them. Fists first, words later. It was a wonder that they had managed to work together without killing each other; their partnership so legendary that it was whispered about even in the elite ranks of SIS.  
  
But this was not Kimura from the past, not the Kimura who had worked, bickered and laughed with Masahiro during their time together on the SIS team. He was not the Kimura that Masahiro knew. The man that Masahiro had to face, that was the man who had been arrested for attempted murder, the man who had tried to kill Goro and had harmed Masahiro's own team members.  
  
Kimura was dead to him.  
  
His thoughts turned back to Tsuyoshi whose trembling voice lingered in Masahiro's mind. Goro had been awake, only briefly, only long enough to whisper a single sentence, which Tsuyoshi had echoed to Masahiro.  
  
‘Goro said that all he remembered was hearing the sound of ‘ticking’; ‘ticking’ like a clock.’  
  
The sentence repeated itself, over and over again, like a mantra, the sound of a broken record. With every step forward, Tsuyoshi’s voice faded, overlapped as it was by another voice, so much thinner, so much younger.  
  
In his mind’s eye, Masahiro could see, a young man, looking small, painfully so, bundled as he was in a thick blanket. The young man was heavily injured, and he appeared to be catatonic, eyes wide, unseeing, even as the medics tried to assist him. The police tried to question him, hoping that they would be able to get something out of him, anything, so that they could catch the criminal before he escaped, before it was too late. He said nothing to them, not a single word.  
  
Only when silence had descended, when the young man was safely cocooned between the bed sheets of the police hospital, did he finally opened his mouth. Nobody heard him, his near silent answer to their incessant questions swallowed up by the depths of the night.  
  
Words only Masahiro knew.  
  
 _‘All I heard was ‘ticking’; ‘ticking’ just like a clock.’_

 

 

 

~ TSUZUKU ~

 

 


	3. Unseen Fingerprints

  


 

 

 

_Year 2010_

 

_Katori Shingo_

  
  
  
Shingo sighed as he collapsed back into his chair, withdrawing his hand from where it laid on Kenta-kun’s forehead. It had all happened so swiftly that Shingo felt as if he had been put through the emotional wringer, forced to take action before even fully grasping the severity of the situation. Nobody had had any idea what the cause of Kenta-kun’s food poisoning was, but it came with a severe bout of nausea and vomiting, and a stubborn high fever that refused to relinquish its dangerous grip.  
  
Judging by the suddenness and severity of the attack, Shingo suspected that Kenta-kun had been hiding the initial signs of the illness. A part of Shingo was mad, mad at himself for not discovering the sickness sooner and allowing Kenta-kun to suffer as he had, and mad at Kenta-kun for not telling anyone when he felt poorly, not going to anyone for help.  
  
Another part of Shingo though, could understand why Kenta-kun had done what he did.  
  
Shingo had been like that too; a delicate balance of child and adult. He adored the hugs and praises that were showered on him by his parents, and particularly close to his grandmother who spoiled him to bits. His favourite childhood delicacies were mayonnaise and shrimps he caught himself, but he stopped eating them when they gave him a really bad stomach ache. He loved sitting on the curb of the streets just watching people, feeling the emotions that they were feeling, like the happiness of a child and a mother or the satisfied exhaustion of a father just returned from work. He adored imagining different lives, creating stories in his head about the strangers that passed him by.  
  
But he had been the eldest in his family, and had learnt from an early age, the responsibilities that came with the title of “big brother”. Those responsibilities had always weighed on him, even more so when his parents had been killed in a horrendous car accident and his grandparents had died of old age. Both his younger brother and him had been sent to an orphanage, the very same orphanage that Shingo now managed, and for a long while, his brother had nobody to rely on but him. Shingo learnt then, to hide his grief and his fear, to always put on a smile even when all he wanted to do was break down and cry.  
  
He had been an adult in a child’s body and a child in an adult situation. And, Kenta-kun projected that same oxymoron in his every gesture, every word.  
  
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself.’ Shingo was startled from his thoughts as a feminine, melodious voice caressed his tired mind. Tanaka Yuko, a helper and a “mother” at the orphanage, strode past him, putting the back of her own hand on Kenta-kun’s cheek, testing his temperature. Then, she lifted the basin of water from the bedside table and made to leave the room with it. As she did so, Yuko smiled reassuringly at Shingo. ‘You have told him over and over again to let anyone of us know whenever he needs help. There wasn’t anything you could have done to prevent this.’  
  
Shingo smiled back at her, showing his appreciation for her support. She was a new helper, volunteering to work at the orphanage for free simply because she wanted to gain some experience in her field of study, which was child care and development. She was generally soft-spoken, though she was not demure and nor was she passive, and kind. She liked working with children a lot more than working with adults because she tended to get nervous when meeting new people, and could be somewhat K.Y. in social situations.  
  
Much like a certain someone else that Shingo knew.  
  
His expression darkened once more as his thoughts turned to his childhood and best friend. He had been worried about Tsuyopon lately, more so than usual. Every time his friend visited the orphanage, he had a wane look on his face, worn and pale. Shingo had tried to get him to open up and spill the beans, but to no avail. This truly frustrated him.  
  
If Tsuyopon could scare Shingo into becoming his friend with one of his unconscious ‘looks’, and even now, Shingo shook his head in helpless amusement at how horribly wrong his first impression of Tsuyopon had been, he should have been able to get something out of Tsuyopon considering the wide array of blackmail material he had on his best friend, material which was infinitely more terrifying, gathered from the years he had spent trying to wheedle Tsuyopon out of crying whenever Tsuyopon’s parents left him at the orphanage for day care. No longer was he going to be merciful. Next time, it was war.  
  
But, it looked like his question would be answered sooner than he thought.  
  
‘Shingo-chan, you have to come see this!’  
  
Yuko was standing in front of the television, her eyes glued to the screen when Shingo hurried out of the room at her cry. He followed her gaze, and he froze.  
  
The image flickering on the screen was a photograph of Goro-chan’s bar, blackened by ash and surrounded by a chaotic crowd. The reporter’s voice was barely distinguishable from the anxious cries and strident shouts, but her words rang clearly in Shingo’s ears. He was stunned, his mind stumbling in horror, trying to catch up as he attempted to process all that he was seeing.  
  
 _An explosion?_  
  
And when she mentioned the suspect arrested, Shingo did only one thing he could: he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. His destination: the police station.  
  
Fourteen years ago, two SIS agents, his friends, had left on a rescue mission. It had been a failure. Only one had returned. The other had vanished without a trace.  
  
Now, Kimura-kun was back.  


 

 

 

_Fukuyama Hirofumi_

 

  
  
Hirofumi was an average guy. He held a steady job, and occasionally went out for a drink with friends. He was not married though, despite being of suitable marriage age, much to his traditional mother and nosy younger sister’s despair. Not that this meant anything to him since he had other more important things in life than love. He was above all, a career man, and though he had been steadily building on his assets, achieving more than what most men his age would have achieved, he was not quite at the level that he desired.  
  
He paused in his morning routine, his attention on high alert as a particularly intriguing headline popped up in the news on the television.  
  
‘…explosion. The suspect was safely apprehended, and is now being held in police custody for questioning.’  
  
He was also extremely competitive, and he simply loved it when his rivals were eliminated from the race.  
  
Hirofumi smiled.  
  
 _May the best man win. It’s your move, Takuya-kun._

 

 

  
~ TSUZUKU ~

 

 

 


	4. Ripples of Regret

 

 

 

 

_Year 1996_

 

 

 

_Inagaki Goro_

 

 

  
Goro grumbled lightly under his breath, squeezing himself as closely as he could under the narrow strip of shade, his frozen fingers shivering uncontrollably as he attempted to lock the door. Of all the nights for it to rain cats and dogs, it had to be the one night that he had been stuck doing chores in his father’s bar on an off day. Goro pressed his forehead tighter against the cold steel surface as a particularly icy blast of wind tugged at his coat, trying to avoid the cunning raindrops that mischievously reached out to ruin his hair.  
  
He jumped, startled, nearly dropping his bunch of keys as the echoes of the police siren, virtually drowned under the pounding of the storm, suddenly spiked, accompanied by distant yells. The wailing of sirens was a sound usual to the night, but never had it been so close, so urgent. Goro fumbled, anxiety running through his veins, hissing as his nerves failed him again and again.  
  
Of all nights, why did it have to be tonight?  
  
CLANG! The keys bounced off the step, on to the pavement, into the rain. Throwing all caution over his hair to the wind, Goro swiftly reached for them, wanting more and more to be out of there. His sister would already be furious at how late he returned home. She would kill him if he had been caught in trouble and she had had to bail him out of jail.  
  
But as he straightened up, his gaze lifting from the ground, he froze.  
  
In the middle of street, a few feet from where he was, somebody was standing there.  
  
Time stood still as the two of them stared at each other, clearly stunned at the presence other than their own, especially in a silent back alley that only boasted of rats and cockroaches.  
  
It was a young man, a figure who looked like an apparition straight out of a horror movie, cloaked in shadows that seemed to come alive under his feet and all around him, his hair and clothes dripping with darker, murkier liquid that Goro, in sick fascination, recognized to be blood. However, the thing that caught Goro’s eye was the dull gleam of the lone streetlight on the metal object in his hand; a gun.  
  
 _Run! Hide! Go back into the bar and lock yourself in!_ screamed his inner voice of reason. Everything about that man shrieked of danger. He was most probably the reason for the sirens that night, the star of the chase, and he was most definitely the source for the alarm bells screeching in Goro’s mind.  
  
But, for some strange reason, Goro found himself transfixed by the man’s face. Everything about him spoke of danger, but despite his cold expression, under his even tan, Goro noticed a deathly pallor, a pallid whiteness that spoke of terror and a chill to the bone. And his eyes, though shadowed as they were, did not seem to be the eyes of a criminal, at odds with his overall appearance.  
  
If it had been under other circumstances, Goro would have mistaken him to be a lost abandoned child, someone way too cynical for his age with eyes that had witnessed horrors that should only exist in nightmares.  
  
‘Come on in. The police will catch you if we continue standing here. Besides, you look cold.’  
  
It was a real out-of-body experience for Goro as he strode forward and quickly tugged the other man into the bar, shoving him through the doorway before stepping in himself and locking the door behind them. The place was dark and Goro fumbled for the lights only to still in his clumsy actions when a hand gently, firmly, held his wrist. The sudden heat of skin-to-skin contact brought Goro abruptly back to reality.  
  
He had just helped a criminal escape the law!  
  
It was as if the “criminal” had read his mind. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked, his husky whisper sending shivers down Goro’s spine, ‘I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble because of me.’  
  
That clinched it.  
  
Goro shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant. ‘If you run out now, the both of us will get caught anyway.’  
  
There was silence and Goro held his breath. The both of them knew that Goro could still kick him out with no consequences, hand him over with no repercussions, but Goro found himself desperately hoping that the stranger would not push the matter. Somehow it did not sit well with Goro to feed him to the crows.  
  
An amused chuckle tickled Goro’s ears. ‘Suit yourself.’ Goro froze as a body pressed against him, something brushing against his neck as the stranger leaned against the door, clearly on high alert.  
  
The voice became softly commanding. ‘Don’t turn on the lights.’  
  
A few seconds, though it seemed like an eternity, ticked by as the yells and sirens got closer, so close that Goro could make out their sharp barking orders. His heart stopped when the running footsteps halted on his doorstep, with only the inch wide door separating them from the police. Then, it all faded, swallowed up by the constant throbbing of the rain.  
  
Goro expelled a sigh of relief, though from the narrow escape or from the sudden absence of the stranger’s close proximity, he did not know. The hand that had held on to his wrist fell away, leaving Goro free to search for the lights and turn them on. Bathed in sudden brilliance, the man cringed, and though Goro was not unaffected, he was less so; therefore, taking the opportunity to examine the man.  
  
His first guess was not much off the mark. It was indeed a young man close to his age, though Goro could not be sure if he was older or younger than Goro himself. His rain-soaked bedraggled hair clung to his face, emphasizing the aquiline contours of his handsome features, framing large brown eyes. Coupled with a loose-fitting shirt that flowed to jeans-covered knees, which hugged his slender frame because it had been drenched by blood and rain, he looked like he could have been blown over by a particularly strong gust of wind.  
  
However, Goro could not forget the wound-up strength he had felt as long fingers gripped his wrist, as that lean body pressed against him. And even now, there was an aura in the way he carried himself, a charisma that oozed from his very bearing.  
  
‘Your looks don’t quite match your personality either, you know.’ The stranger grinned, gesturing at Goro.  
  
Clearly, the stranger was teasing him, but still, Goro could not help the embarrassed prickling that began at his neck. ‘So what if I’m not as weak as I look?’ he snapped, turning away, wondering why he felt so childishly insulted.  
  
And was that a slight hurt that he had not lived up to the stranger’s expectations?  
  
Goro was not given the chance to fully contemplate this as a hand stopped him. ‘Woah, I’m sorry I hit a nerve, but seriously, I didn’t mean it that way.’ Goro turned around as the stranger tugged at him. He let go of Goro, his previously cheeky grin now slightly sheepishly apologetic. And he surprised Goro by sticking out his right hand.  
  
‘I’m Kimura Takuya.’  
  
Something told Goro that he was not lying, a rare gift of honesty in a world when someone’s real name is not freely given for fear that it would reveal their identity and threaten their livelihood.  
  
And though he had been cautioned by his sister many times, Goro too decided to take the risk. He shook Kimura Takuya’s hand.  
  
‘My name’s Inagaki Goro.’  
  
 

 

 

 

_Year 2010_

 

 

_Kimura Takuya  
_

 

 

  
Kimura Takuya paced the room, fingers tapping against any available surface, itching for a cigarette, longing for something, anything, to take his frustrations out on. Inwardly, he raged at himself, cursing the fact that he was the reason Goro had ended up in the hospital.

How could he have been so careless?

He knew it had been a trap, he knew the dangers that could have come from it. Why did he not check to make sure that Goro had left the building? Of all the times that he had slipped his guard, why now?

Why?

As his gaze landed on the hospital bed, all his emotions drained from him, leaving him limp and exhausted. Collapsing into the plastic chair, Takuya tiredly ran his fingers through his hair, tugging sharply as he attempted to kill the numbness weighing him down, as he attempted to find something else to focus on, something other than the terror clawing at his gut.

Goro had never looked so vulnerable, not even when he had stared at Takuya with wide, fearful eyes, wary of a strange man who had stumbled upon him in the dead of the night. There was a stillness that settled on him, that blanketed him as much as the swathes of bed clothes that buried him; a stillness that was unnatural to life.

And Takuya regretted it.

He regretted giving in to his weakness that night, regretted giving in to the slight pull he had felt when he had met Goro for the first time, the fascination he had had with the young boy who looked both terrified and fearless, who had seemed so scared yet had been so courageous in his actions. He should have done as his instinct had instructed, he should have run rather than agreed to the offer of protection. If he had, he would not have had dragged Goro into this, into this tangled mess that he had created with his own hands.

Already it had claimed the life of one victim. Takuya dreaded that its strangling hold had suffocated the life of another.

He would never regret meeting Goro, but there were times, like now, he regretted the fact that Goro had met him.

If Goro knew that all this had begun the night that they had met, the night that his generosity had been extended to a grateful man in need of comfort, shelter and support, Takuya wondered.

Would Goro too regret ever meeting him?

  
~TSUZUKU~

 

 


	5. Deal with the Devil

### Chapter Text

 

 

_Year 2010_

 

 

_Nakai Masahiro_

 

  
  
Eyes bruised with exhaustion and puffy from the lack of sleep, Masahiro stretched his arms, groaning at the crick in his stiff back, as he sat up on the couch. Taking his spectacles off and rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock.  
  
Three hours.  
  
He sighed. In the end, despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep after all. Getting up and straightening, massaging the numbness from his legs, which he had cramped into a very uncomfortable position, he strode over to his desk. A single sheet of paper lay innocently on its gray surface, starring up at Masahiro with rows of accusing black eyes. Hand reaching out, his fingers tightened on the paper, the crackling sounding very loud to Masahiro’s ears in the silence of his office as he stared at it, his eyes fixed on the casually artistic and very familiar signature.  
  
Collapsing into his chair, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to rid himself of the impending headache that he could feel throbbing its way into existence, Masahiro’s thoughts turned back to the emotionally draining confrontation with the man he once called partner.

 

_Three hours prior...  
_

 

CRASH!

Kimura’s chair fell violently backwards as he leaped to his feet, furious. The accompanying police officer started forward, but Masahiro raised a hand to halt him.

‘I’m not signing the damn thing!’

Masahiro met blazing eyes calmly. ‘We have eyewitnesses placing you at the scene of the crime.’

‘If I had set the bomb, wouldn’t I have calculated to be out of there before it exploded? Nakai, you know me better than to think that I would be so carelessly suicidal.’

‘Maybe. But, I also know how much you love the challenge of pushing yourself to the limit. In the end, you did come out alive after all. Mission accomplished.’

‘Then, why did I drag Goro out with me? If I wanted to kill him, wouldn’t I have left him inside the bar?’

‘We don’t know if what you’re saying is true. According to Tsuyoshi, he found you leaning over Goro right after the explosion. You two were the only ones left when the bomb went off. For all we know, he could’ve run, but somehow you caught up with him, and tried to drag him back to the bar, but the bomb exploded before you could do it.’

‘You have no evidence to prove that. In fact, you don’t even have evidence to hold me here.’

‘True, most of the evidence would have been obliterated in the blast. But, you see, fragments of the bomb survived, and we’ve traced it back to another crime; one that you were involved in as well.’

There was no mistaking which crime Masahiro was talking about, and from the look in Kimura’s eyes, Masahiro knew that they were both on the same page. Memories of that night flashed through Masahiro’s mind, eroding some of the illusionary calm, cool professionalism that had settled over him.

Kimura took a deep shuddering breath. His voice though was strong, filled with steel.

‘I would never hurt Goro.’

‘I don’t know that.’

‘I would never hurt Goro.’

‘You haven’t had an amazing track record for being harmless. Or for being trustworthy by the standards of the law.’

‘I would never hurt Goro!’

‘Just like you would never hurt Mori?’

Kimura stopped short, colour rapidly draining from his face, his eyes wide. Masahiro did not want to think, did not want to recognize the emotions that ran through those expressions. The words had slipped out of him even before he could fully grasp that he had been thinking about them.

The ticking of the bomb…The acrid smoke burning in his eyes…His feet pounding against the floor…

Kimura standing with a gun to Mori’s head.

Kimura had killed Mori.

KIMURA HAD KILLED MORI.

And, something snapped.

Masahiro lunged, his chair falling violently to the floor, a loud screeching tearing through the room, the table shaking as it was forced across the floor. Masahiro couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe; his mind descending into a tumultuous storm of emotion.

Mori was dead, and there was nothing forgivable about that.

‘YOU BASTARD! DO YOU KNOW HOW IT HAS HAUNTED ME?! I SEE IT IN MY HEAD; IT PLAYS OVER AND OVER AGAIN! YOU, STANDING THERE WITH THE GUN TO MORI’S HEAD! YOUR VOICE SAYING THAT YOU’VE KILLED HIM! I CAN NEVER FORGET IT, NOT EVER! I TRUSTED YOU! I BELIEVED IN YOU! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S DONE TO ME?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME?! DO YOU-?!’

‘Nakai-san! Nakai-san! NAKAI-SAN!’

Masahiro breathed heavily, his chest heaving as his tirade was abruptly interrupted, the panicked voice of the accompanying police officer washing over him like a bucket of ice cold water, his vision clearing as the fog faded from his eyes. He looked down, the realization dawning that he had flung himself on to Kimura, his hands now tightly grasping on to Kimura’s shirt, his hold more than a little strangling. The table that had been between them had fallen on to its side, pushed away, discarded.

His eyes met brown.

Pain.

Guilt.

Acceptance.

Understanding.

And, Masahiro cursed himself for being able to read the other man so easily, for being so familiar with every damn expression that crossed those features. Years had passed, but Kimura hadn’t changed a bit.

He had killed Mori.

He was a wanted criminal, murderer, betrayer.

He had hurt Goro.

And, he was still Kimura.

Suddenly, hand clamped firmly on to Masahiro’s arm. His head swiveled, his eyes turning to the police officer, who looked more than a little freaked by unusually violent outburst of his superior. ‘Nakai-san, you have to let go of him,’ he said, speaking softly and slowly, like he was talking to a frightened, cornered wild animal.

Masahiro’s gaze turned back to the fallen man, taking in the exhausted bruised eyes, the lines of strain that marred handsome features, the tight expression of pain that pulled taunt on tanned features. It was so easy to forget that they weren’t partners anymore; that this wasn’t just another argument, wasn’t just training. From the way Kimura had adjusted his breathing with Masahiro’s body weight on him, from the way, despite the violence, Masahiro had adjusted himself to Kimura’s position, his awareness of the other man flaring up unconsciously, guiding his actions, nothing had changed.

Masahiro had changed, but when he was with Kimura, he found it so easy to fall back into familiar patterns, routines, thoughts, feelings.

When he was with Kimura, he felt like he hadn’t changed.

He felt like they hadn’t changed.

Masahiro’s eyes burned as tears pricked the back of his eyelids. Furious with his sudden emotional vulnerability, he hastily got to his feet, dashing his arm across his eyes and flinging off the officer’s hand.

‘This meeting is over,’ he said hoarsely, gesturing for the officer, ‘Get the confession.’

As the officer hurriedly reached for the confession, setting the table back in its position, Kimura pulled himself together. His eyes were desperate, pleading.

‘Nakai, you have to believe me. I didn’t plant the bomb in Goro’s bar. Someone else did it. While we sit in here trying to implicate me, the real criminal is still out there, and he might try to do it again.’

Masahiro gestured at the paper on the table. ‘We can protect Goro well enough. All you have to do is sign the paper.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘And, remember to read it before you sign it.’

‘Nakai-’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you; it would look like I tricked you into signing it or something.’

‘Nakai, please you have to-’

‘I no longer believe you, not since you pulled that trigger!’

The silence was deafening, broken only by the heaving of breath from Masahiro. Masahiro braced himself, trying to rebuild his battered walls, as he prepared for another onslaught from Kimura.

But, to his surprise, Kimura wordlessly took the paper and read it.

Seconds ticked by with Masahiro staring at the head of brown hair and the rapidly moving eyes peeking from the top of the paper as Kimura scanned the document.

Then, brown orbs stopped, Kimura putting the paper down as he looked at Masahiro with a raised eyebrow. ‘You want me to sign this?’

That dry tone was all it took, and suddenly, all the emotional turmoil that had bubbled up within Masahiro just drained away. ‘I thought I made it quite clear from the very beginning of this conversation.’ This bantering was familiar ground.

Kimura took the pen that had been placed on the table, about to sign the document when he looked up at Masahiro. ‘On one condition.’

It was Masahiro’s turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. ‘You don’t have any leverage in this situation. What makes you think I would listen to your demands?’

‘Because it would benefit us both.’ Kimura leaned forward, his eyes glittering with a hard light. ‘You know that someone else is out there; your gut is telling you that. I can see it in your eyes. I want that person behind bars as much as you do. If I’m going down, I’m not going down alone.’

‘And, what makes you think we can’t catch this someone on our own without your help?’

Kimura leaned back, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. ‘Because I’m the only connection to him you’ve got.’

Masahiro kept his face expressionless, viciously stamping down on the stirring of excitement in his stomach, not wanting to examine the feeling closely. ‘So, what are you suggesting?’

‘A deal. I’ll sign this confession; you get to put me behind bars when this is all over, but for now, I want you to sign me on as a prisoner under your care. Let me participate in the investigation. Under supervision, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘And, let me stay in Goro’s room until he wakes up.’

The officer protested, but Masahiro raised his hand. ‘You’ll be heavily guarded. Try to run, try to hurt him, try anything we deem as suspicious and the deal’s off.’

‘But, Nakai-san-’

Kimura grinned. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

 

_Back in the present time...  
_

 

Masahiro put the paper back down on his desk. Then, he pulled another blank sheet out, and began to write.

 

 

~TSUZUKU~

 

 


End file.
